October
by Oni-Gil
Summary: 31 dark drabbles for October 2007!
1. One

Boys love to tease each other, don't they? Braig had been the most merciless, finding playful ways to torment the others. Ienzo, tiny little Ienzo, had always been his favorite victim because of his age, his size. It had been so _easy_. Ienzo was so _sensitive_.

In hindsight, it had been stupid. If Braig had only known that Ienzo would become a Nobody with such an uncanny power… but then, how could he have?

There were often nights when Xigbar opened his eyes to see only darkness, with the feeling of small hands—tiny hands, baby hands, puny hands—with cold, cold fingers latched around his throat, throttling the life out of him-

-until he woke up, alone in his room, gasping for air.

_Someday it won't be an illusion, Braig._

_Someday it'll be real._

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6. Xigbar/Strangulation/Zexion

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**A/N:** Day 1, and I was almost late! DX_  
_


	2. Two

It was strange to be someone else, to feel himself tromping around in too-large shoes, trampling carefully-laid plans, delicate experiments.

Some things were familiar—the rush of the Keyblade, the slaying of Heartless—but others were alien, unthinkable.

_Treason,_ he screamed as the Keyblade bludgeoned the life out of Dusks. He could hear their dying screams, could hear their whispered pleas _I don't want to die I don't want to die Master Roxas please I don't want to die_ but Sora could not. The Keyblade Master blundered through the worlds, tearing through Heartless and Nobodies alike, selfishly in search of his friends.

Roxas tried to make himself heard, noticed. He succeeded, once, while Sora was still sleepy. It had felt _felt!_ wonderful to cry, to feel sorrow for the loss of Twilight Town _Hayner… Pence… Olette…_ but feelings came at a heavy price. He tried to stop the Keyblade from tearing through the black coat, through flesh and blood, which had startled Sora, but not enough to stop him. The look on Demyx's face _I'm sorry, Demyx, I'm sorry, I never meant for this to happen! _made him feel terrible inside. He tried to share his grief with Sora, but the Key-Bearer was too stubborn to accept it.

Roxas cried. Sora didn't.

_Nobodies falling to the Keyblade. Organization blood on my… Sora's… hands._

Xaldin was next. Roxas knew him well, well enough to know when the Lancer was defeated. He could see it in his eyes the moment the tide of the battle turned. He knew he was going to die, but he went on, going down fighting.

Roxas hated Sora. It was so good to hate, to feel such emotion.

And oh, how he'd screamed, railed against the confines of his Sora-shaped prison, wept until he had no tears left when the fire that had been Axel went out.

Axel saw him. He _did_. Roxas could tell, when Axel's eyes brightened for just a moment. In that instant, Roxas tried to convey everything he felt _felt_.

Did it work? He never knew.

_I'll see you in the next life, Axel. You're free now._

His heart _heart!_ leapt when he saw the Skyscraper of Memory.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

It was exhilarating. He was himself, and he had a heart—his own heart!—and he could use his own Keyblades, harm, _kill_…

He fought Sora, fought him with all his strength. For Demyx, all kindness and flow and soft songs in the darkness; for Xaldin, with his braids and his lances and his blue eyes; for all those helpless Nobodies. The sensitive, playful Dancers; the topsy-turvy Creepers; the strong, silent Berserkers; the slithering, cocky Assassins; the obedient, timid Dusks.

For Axel, with his laugh and his grin and his wink, the tilt of his head, the flicker of fire in the wind, the twinkle of sea-salt ice cream in the twilight.

But Sora's heart _was_ his, and he couldn't last long.

Xigbar.

Xigbar, who had taught him everything about the Castle and the City and the others, Xigbar who loved to joke and hang upside-down and defy all the rules, even gravity.

Luxord.

Luxord, who had talked with him for hours, teaching him the rules of every game he knew, Luxord, who smelled of tea and smoke and occasionally rum, the click of dice, the whisper of shuffling cards.

Saïx.

Saïx with his never-ending loyalty, who would follow Xemnas into oblivion without a second thought, Saïx the enforcer, who died unfulfilled, without any heart, but he would never have blamed his Master, his Superior.

The Proof of Existence glared accusingly red on Sora's eyes, and Roxas hated him. Hated him for not using his… their… heart to mourn.

_I hate you I hate you I hate you…_

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_  
_8. Roxas/Serial Killer

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**A/N:** I really shouldn't have to say this. Please review... or Xigbar will fire spitballs at you. 


	3. Three

Riku isn't afraid of anything.

Well, actually he's afraid of one thing, has been since he read that one book when he was really little, and ever since he's been afraid of being eaten alive. It's stupid. There aren't any dangerous animals on the Islands, only in the ocean. Riku prefers the land anyway.

He walks into the darkness without a second thought, because he's not afraid of anything. Almost.

He's doing it for Kairi, he tells himself again and again. For Kairi.

He doesn't notice, at first, when the darkness starts to take over his heart. He lets it in because the man who whispers to him from the shadows tells him that it will help. It's only later, when he invites it in all the way, that he realizes what it feels like.

Letting in the darkness is like being eaten alive.

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13. Riku/Eaten Alive 


	4. Four

Darkness, darkness, darkness.

That was all they cared about, once. That was the basis of their studies. That was the thing they wanted to hold dominion over.

Xehanort was the one who was the most obsessed. Ienzo, following a close second, watched as the strange apprentice fell under its spell day by day. Soon it had taken hold, and was spread to the others like a disease, corrupting their hearts until it was all they saw, all they had, and Xehanort was its manifestation. Ienzo hungered for the darkness, for Xehanort. But the very darkness he sought was the thing that kept him from conquering it, the chains that bound him until he was unable to move, only to stare longingly at the shadows, at Xehanort.

It was the starvation that weakened him, not want of food but want of darkness, of burning golden-brown skin beneath his pale fingers, of silvery hair tickling his face. He grew even more thin and pale, more so than he always had been, his heart succumbing to the cankers swelling within, until it was consumed, lost to the darkness he had so desperately tried to master.

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15. Ienzo/Starvation 


	5. Five

The only thing he knew now was pain.

It was the closest thing a Nobody could get to grief, rage, hatred. Xemnas was destroyed. Saïx was dead. Xaldin and Xigbar were gone, fled into the in-between. Lexaeus had been murdered. Marluxia had declared himself Superior, with Naminé safely in his grip, holding Sora's leash. Larxene sat at his right hand, Axel at his left—all smiles and arrogance and mocking words. Roxas had been elevated to Four, Luxord to Fix, a fearful Demyx to Six. Vexen, unwilling yet bound to this new Organization by unknown ties, had been shunted to Seven.

As for Zexion, Marluxia apparently thought him too dangerous to sit in the Organization proper, yet for some reason he was kept alive, bound by vines in one of the cells, his frightening power kept in check by the powerful drugs he'd been administered.

"Have you decided to be obedient?"

He could only make an angry noise, too weak to move much. The floor was smooth against his cheek, and he wished he were sitting up. Marluxia's boots appeared in his line of vision and he scowled.

"I suppose not," Marluxia said, the smugness in his voice grating on Zexion's already shattered nerves. "It's a pity. If only I could be sure of your faithfulness, secure your undying loyalty to my Organization… to me," he purred, kneeling beside Zexion and gently turning his head so the smaller Nobody was forced to look up at him, "you could be such a valuable asset. I could even make you Number Five, if you like…"

Zexion summoned what remained of his strength and wrenched himself away, his head striking the floor hard enough to make him dizzy. At once, the vines which bound him brought him gently back, closer to Marluxia. The Assassin stroked his face with abnormally soft fingers.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he cooed. "I would hate for you to be… damaged."

"Don't touch me," Zexion forced out. The scent clinging to Marluxia was combining with the drugs and his recent association with the floor to make his head spin. He reached for his power, but this proved impossible. Marluxia only smiled.

"My _dearest_ Zexion," he murmured, so close that his breath tickled Zexion's ear. "I am your Superior. I have every right to touch you."

The Schemer struggled, but he was weakened and bound. His efforts made Marluxia laugh.

"I shall return tomorrow," the Assassin told him. "I trust you'll have a more _satisfactory_ answer for me. Won't you, my pet?"

His fingers brushed Zexion's cheek once more before he vanished.

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16. Zexion/Master-Slave 


	6. Six

**A/N:** Woohoo, my favorite so far!

* * *

Riku tells you that you've been talking in your sleep, thrashing, sometimes yelling. You've been shouting yourself hoarse, apparently, berating invisible people for their wrongdoings. "Xehanort," you moan at times. Sometimes, "Ienzo," or the others. You don't remember most of the dreams, and you're grateful for that. The ones you _do_ remember are full of 'darkness,' of empty eyes and betrayal and hollow, walking corpses which were once your boys, your apprentices; and most of all, Xehanort, Xemnas, the one whose shadow took your name and corrupted it, turned it into something evil.

You sleep less and less as the dreams get worse. Riku remarks on it; you tell him it's nothing to worry about. You never slept much anyway, so it isn't too hard of a shift.

It troubles you, that you should be so consumed by hatred and thoughts of vengeance. However, it is all that holds you together, the only thing that protects your heart from the darkness surrounding it.

You still don't like to look at yourself in the mirror… you don't like seeing the stranger in the glass, this dark skin which reminds you so much of the treacherous apprentice, the cloak and gloves and bandages which you imposed upon yourself to hide from your enemies.

Enemies… how did it come to this? Cannot a man trust his own children, never having to fear that they will turn on him? Cannot he divulge his greatest secrets, teach them his trade, mold them and raise them to be miniature echoes of himself?

The worst thing is that they _are _just like you, or like you were in your youth: eager to learn, to achieve, to hold dominion over something by learning everything about it. They became tiny Ansems, each one taking a different aspect of your personality. Elaeus took your patience, Ienzo your stubbornness. Dian received your responsibility, Braig your rare moments of humor, Even your logic and enthusiasm. Xehanort inherited your ingenuity, your determination, your curiosity… all acceptable qualities, but when coupled with Xehanort's naïveté and— there's no other term for it— madness, a deadly combination.

In fact, they became so like you that one of them strove to _become _you entirely, and ended up subverting the others. But they are all at fault… they betrayed you. They _all_ turned their backs on you, became your rivals, your… betters.

How did it come to this?

* * *

17. Ansem/Sleep 


	7. Seven

He sometimes wondered which of them would die first.

Some of it was practical, or political. Some of it was simply morbid fascination.

If it were Roxas, it would be a terrible blow to their plans. Axel would be devastated. Xemnas would grow more moody, more frustrated.

If it were Larxene, things would certainly be calmer. Marluxia, and the tension in the meeting chamber would be alleviated. Luxord, and everyone would be uneasy.

Demyx would be no great loss, but something wouldn't be the same. He was the only one who truly clung to his fading emotions, who filled the halls with music.

Everyone would stop watching their backs if Axel was destroyed. If Saïx died, Xemnas would be sour for a while, and the neophytes might be less co-operative. Vexen, and there would be a horrible gap, an emptiness that none of the elder six would dare to describe out loud: the one who reminded them who they were, and where they had come from, and who had taught them.

Xaldin, and the Dusks would be rowdier, less obedient. Xigbar, and they would all be less relaxed, or maybe less on their toes. Or both.

If Xemnas was destroyed, there would be pandemonium.

He himself… it went without saying that everyone would feel less safe, if someone as strong as Number Five could vanish into oblivion.

And…

He still had nightmares, even without a heart. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, listening with all his might for the soft breathing coming from the other side of the room, any sign that his nightmare wasn't true; that Zexion had not been struck down, had not lay pouring his lifeblood out in Lexaeus' arms, had not gone terribly pale and cold and still and dead until the earth rose to swallow him up.

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18. Lexaeus/Buried

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**A/N:** Silly Lex, don't you know that Nobodies don't leave bodies to bury? Ah well, it's his nightmare...

Please review!


	8. Eight

Gravity is a rule.

That's what they were taught at an early age, when they fell off the swings or tripped while running. Ansem had liked to mess with the laws of physics- Dilan had been the same—but they had left gravity mostly alone.

Xigbar wasn't sure about his new power. It seemed to go against the basic principles each of the apprentices had clung to. He got used to it eventually, and it was lots of fun, but it felt kinda weird to hang upside-down without falling.

Ansem would have been fascinated.

…crazy old man.

How weird was it, that even though he wasn't falling, his tears were?

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19. Xigbar/Falling 


	9. Nine

**A/N:** First off, TIA DALMA'S VOICE IS FREAKING HARD TO WRITE.

* * *

He never told anyone about the events that led up to losing his heart. 

He really should have known better. It was a common enough mistake among sailors, according to the legend of Davy Jones. But she was beautiful, and he was naïve. He never imagined that a woman could be just as manipulative and deceitful as a man, or that she could turn out to be a fine pirate—perhaps a bit _too_ fine, good enough to captain her own ship if she desired.

Which she did, of course, and there was only one obstacle in her way. Being a resourceful pirate, of course, she had no problems with that.

He really should have known better. It's bad luck to have a woman on a ship. Many a great pirate was lost to the greatest foe: his own heart. Well, if that was so, he wasn't going to risk _that_ anymore.

He stowed away on the first ship in the direction of the colony of escaped slaves. The mysterious woman just smiled a crooked smile when he asked her.

"You want da paen to end?" she asked in return. "You want to trow awae dat what make you whole?"

"Tell me what I have to do."

"A braeve man you are," she said, still smiling strangely. "If you weesh to gamble wid faet, steer you caourse to Tortuga. Know dis: de darkness loves most dose wid blood on dere hands."

"I thank you. How can I pay you for your services?"

Her smile widened just a bit.

"You price weel be paed een time, Jack Durol."

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20. Luxord/Betrayal

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**A/N:** See what I mean? HARD.

Edit: Ah, nuts! I should have saved this one for tomorrow!


	10. Ten

**A/N:** I... have a feeling this will generate lots of reviews. XD Darkness knows "Light" did!

Introducing my third favorite thus far. I really love writing these ficlets. Know why? Because I can write to my... er... soul's content, without having to worry about plot or structure or ANYTHING. It's raw writing. It's pure... Oni-Gil. I get to write the way I want, without constraints. (Besides the prompts, but those, as you've noticed, are VERY loose.)

Speaking of prompts... I wrote this under one prompt, but it didn't fit very well. So I looked at my list and lo! a prompt which was just about perfect!!! Not even planned!!!

* * *

The rain was freezing. It might as well be snow, and cover this black city with a blanket of white, white like the Castle, like the Dusks, like the Superior's hair.

"Your mind's made up?"

The sky was bleeding darkness down on them. Water pooled on the ground. The puddles were alight with the reflections of neon lights, breaking into ripples and particles as boots splashed into them. Footsteps echoed forlornly between buildings for a few seconds after their source had stopped.

"Why did the Keyblade choose me? I have to know."

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. Lightning must have struck somewhere, on one of the skyscrapers dominating the City's skyline. The rain hissed in the gutters, over the deserted sidewalks, down the drains and out of sight beneath the streets. There was no other sound, just an endless rush of water.

"You can't turn on the Organization!"

Steam rose in tiny wisps from the red-haired man's coat as he stepped out from under a protective awning. He looked eerily pale with the reflections playing across his face, set against the black of his coat and the shadows around him. His eyes flickered emerald in the rain-light. His hair stood out bright scarlet against the gloom.

"You get on their bad side and they'll destroy you!"

The smaller dark-coated figure was barely a hint of shape in the shadowy street. Only his hair, a startling sunshine gold, seemed to rebel against the oppressive darkness. His head turned just slightly, not enough to actually look at the other man, but enough to show he was speaking to him. His blue eyes glimmered with faded resentment and a dull sort of longing.

"No one would miss me."

Footsteps were again heard through the rain, and the splash of gold moved further and further off, bobbing through the darkness like a lantern. The red-haired man made a feeble gesture as though to reach out to stop him.

"That's not true!"

The light in the shadows finally faded into the rain and darkness. The man left behind stood staring after the boy. Steam no longer rose from his sodden coat, and even his extravagantly spiked hair was starting to droop. The chill was beginning to seep into him. His narrow shoulders fell, his spindly hands resting limply at his sides.

"…I would."

The make-up around his eyes had started to run—the rain, of course, the rain—and it stung. A gloved hand rose to rub at them. The rain continued to fall, a spark in the darkness, very small and very cold and very alone.

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26. Axel/Freezing

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**A/N: **So? So? 


	11. Eleven

It happened so fast he had no time to blink.

One moment Marluxia had been standing—_with your back turned, you idiot, you shouldn't let your guard down, ever_—and the next he was sagging, pain spreading in ripples from the place where the knife had penetrated, held up by unnaturally strong arms. He felt his strength draining just as quickly as something warm and sticky flowed down his back. He could just barely catch a glimpse of his assailant from the corner of his eye as his head lolled back limply. He could feel Larxene's body pressing warmly against him as cold spread over him, even to the tips of his fingers. He had no energy to spare on summoning his scythe, and he watched bemusedly as wisps of darkness began to rise.

He tried to ask her something, possibly along the lines of "What are you doing?" or "Why?" or something, _anything_. He only managed a bubbling gasp as the knife twisted, the pain searing white-hot between his shoulder blades. Larxene's lips brushed his ear. Her breath came in excited pants, as though murder was the most exhilarating thing she'd done for a very long time.

"Did you _honestly_ think I'd submit to sitting beneath you?" Larxene murmured into his ear, digging her kunai in just a bit deeper. He arched away from her as best he could, mouth open in a silent scream. She laughed, delighted.

"Why settle for princess when I could be _queen_?"

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9. Marluxia/Stabbed in the Back

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**A/N:** Happy day XI. I did it RIGHT this time! 


	12. Twelve

If Darkness was a lake, she would be drowning in it.

Again.

This time, no convenient portal to another world opened. No magical Traverse Town awaited—she was already there. Where else could she be sent? Another world whose heart would be devoured by the greedy darkness, followed by those of its people.

She knew what lay in store beyond the darkness. She had seen the Heartless through the blinds of her new home, prowling the darkened streets in search of hearts to feed upon. Was that what she would become? A ravenous shadow who preyed on hearts?

It really was like drowning—her feet trapped in thick mud, the water rising all around. But the water was black, the mud was black, everything was black with yellow eyespots. She couldn't breathe. She clutched protectively at her chest, although she knew it would do no good. Nothing could stop the Heartless. It was impossible to fight them, not when they were so hungry, eager to feed.

She wondered, briefly, whether anyone would notice if she were gone. She doubted it. A castaway from one of the many worlds swallowed by the darkness? No one would miss her. No one even knew she existed. She was nobody.

She had fought as well as she could, but now the tide of darkness had her. The irony would have made her smile in another situation—she didn't know how to swim.

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2. Larxene/Drowning 


	13. Thirteen

**A/N:** Sorry this was late, but my internet died last night and it was too late to call Dad for help. I got ahold of him this morning and fixed it up. So this is yestrday's.

I have no excuse for the... non-dark-ness of this. T.T Simply put... an excuse to harp "Depths." XD

* * *

It is rare that she can pry back into the haze of her own past, but if she has unusually good luck, she can dimly remember sunlight, the smell of flowers, and the feel of strong hands tossing her into the sky, only to catch her and bring her safely back to the ground. She can just barely recall a woman she imagines must be her mother, her smile and her laughter. All she remembers of her father is a voice, warm and deep. There are other faces that swim vaguely in the haze, other voices, other arms holding her besides her grandmother, who she remembers quite clearly. She thinks they may have been boys, but she forgets their names, how she knew them, whether they were her brothers or not.

If she tries, she remembers darkness. She's never spoken of it to anyone before—why trouble Sora or Riku or the rest? They lived in a place of light. She didn't need to bring her own darkness.

The darkness is the last thing she remembers before awakening on damp sand, hearing the crash and hiss of waves and watching meteors streak across the sky.

When she awakens in Hollow Bastion, there is a brief time after Sora leaves when she is free to explore without fear of the Heartless. She listens to Leon's plans for the town as she looks around. Once, he mentions something that… rankles. It's like an itch she can't scratch.

"That's wrong," she says, and they all stare at her. She feels embarrassed. "That's not the way it was."

There is a long silence. Then Leon's face lights slightly with realization.

"You're right," he says, and they all watch her with strange expressions. "How did you know?"

She shrugs, wanting to escape their stares, and instead wanders into the castle. It all feels wrong. It has a vague familiarity, but it isn't quite right. There isn't enough light.

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25. Kairi/Darkness

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**A/N:** I could have done so much more with this prompt. T.T It isn't even really DARK. 


	14. Fourteen

**A/N:** Sorry I'm late! My computer priveleges were revoked for a brief period of time, but I'm back now!

* * *

It was the wrong color, but it was mostly water, wasn't it?

Every sense seemed to be on hyper-alert mode, making the cold hilt of the knife stand out glaringly against the warmth that covered the rest of him. His vision was awash in red, and a bit of black, but mostly red. The Heartless had gathered like scavengers, taken their prize and were now wandering off. The Dancers were still clustered around him, congratulating him on a job well done. He hadn't used the sitar for this—it would have been too noticeable. No one noticed another knifing in this world, much less one conducted to such grisly perfection. They say humans can't smell blood. Apparently Nobodies can, for Demyx smelled it easily enough, and tasted it from where some got on his face and he licked it off without thinking.

In fact, the only sense which couldn't detect anything is his sense of sound, which seemed odd considering how musically-oriented he was. He looked down at the body with a little frown, but shrugged. He had brought this silence on himself, in an effort not to be detected.

After all, silence is golden… and duct tape is silver.

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29. Demyx/Duct Tape 


	15. Fifteen

Like a cornered animal, she crouched in a corner, dirty, clothes torn and muddy, blood dried on her hands and around her mouth. Her unruly hair crackled with electricity. The charge in the air raised the hair on the back of Axel's neck as he faced her, knives against chakrams, both panting.

"Look, for the last time, I'm not trying to hurt you," the red-haired man called.

"Is that so?" she called shrilly. Her laugh was breathless. "Then why are you fighting me?"

"You attacked me!" he answered defensively, and she grinned ferally.

"'Come be someone else,' you said," she replied. "_Real_ tempting."

"Okay, okay, correction," Axel said, rolling his eyes. "You're not the person you remember. If you remember anything at all, that is. You have no heart. You don't _belong_."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her guard sagging slightly. It was enough for Lexaeus, who took advantage of her momentary lapse in attention and, within seconds, had stunned her and slung her over his shoulder.

"Jeez," Axel said, allowing his chakrams to dissipate. "You'd think she's _want_ to join an Organization with a gorgeous guy like me."

"It is difficult to give up everything," Lexaeus reminded him. Axel snorted.

"Not when there's nothing left to give up."

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24. Larxene/Trapped/Axel

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**A/N:** Ah, more in the saga of Larxene. Actually, that's it. I got her over with. Now I don't have to write her for the rest of the month! HA! 


	16. Sixteen

The red-haired man smiled like a knife. He was full of sharp edges and discord, nothing gentle about him.

"Hey, new kid."

The newborn Nobody was soft and pale as unmolded clay, no expression stamped on his features. Not like the other, who was almost always smiling like there was some private joke he was always hearing and no one else could. The new boy's eyes were empty as he gazed dumbly at the sharp man.

"The thing you say now is 'yes, sir' or even better, 'yes, Lord Axel.'"

The new Nobody's voice was unpracticed, like he knew he should talk but hadn't quite got the basic principle down. It was hardly more than a whisper.

"I'm not supposed to listen to Axel," he said. Axel snorted.

"Xigbar tell you that? Fine, I can deal."

He crossed his thin arms, tangling long limbs into a voluntary knot.

"They say your power is water," Axel said. "That's just pathetic. Even worse than ice, 'cause at least that's pointy. We don't need wimps in this Organization. People like you don't belong here. Water can't stand against darkness. Now, _fire_… fire kills things. It destroys things. Eats everything in its path… alive."

"But water puts out fire," the newcomer said softly. "Water wears away everything, even stone. Water gives power to others."

"Weakling," Axel snorted. He snapped his fingers and the resulting flame lit both of their faces. The angles of the older Nobody's face made the stark contrast between highlight and shadow all the more pronounced. The new boy's rounder face had more gradual shifts, subtler changes.

Then the newborn Nobody reached out a gloveless hand and plunged his fingers into the flame. His ocean-deep eyes held Axel's defiantly for a few seconds, and then the fire went out with a hiss.

"See?" the new boy said, ignoring his burnt and blistered fingers. "What now, Axel?"

Axel grinned again and flung out his arms, summoning his chakrams in twin fireballs.

"Think you're hot stuff, do you?" he asked. "Let's see how you fight.

Right back at him, Demyx smiled like a knife.

* * *

3. Demyx/Burned 


	17. Seventeen

"And this fellow here is an old friend," the older doctor told the trainee, unlocking the door.

"Are you sure we should go in?" the younger one asked nervously as the door creaked open. "I thought 'maximum security' meant—"

The older doctor laughed.

"Don't worry. He can hardly move anyway." He called into the room. "Light's coming on, Sleeping Beauty."

Bright light flooded the room as he flicked on the switch, leading the way inside. Their boots swished on the soft carpet. There was a quiet groan from the corner, where a man was curled. His white clothes and hair blended in with the white walls so cleanly that he almost disappeared. The only think that stood out was his skin, which was a rich shade of golden-brown.

"Turn it off."

His voice was low and very controlled, as smooth as silk and as dark as midnight. It was almost enchanting in its quality, but the doctor was experienced.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Just showing a new one around."

The trainee felt like a bird trapped in the gaze of a snake as the man's eyes, narrowed to block out the light, fixed on him. Twin slits of amber scrutinized him, terrifying in their intensity. The older doctor's hand landed hard on his shoulder, shaking him free.

"This fellow doesn't have a name," he said. "We just made one up… we call him 'Xemnas.' He's in here because he thought it might be fun to strangle anyone within a twenty foot radius." He laughed as the young doctor backed away. "Don't worry, that's what the drugs are for. He can't do anything but talk to himself."

"About what?" the younger doctor asked.

"Darkness," the elder said, and the man in the corner twitched. "See? He's obsessed. Anyway, we keep him on sedatives and keep the lights off. Of course, once or twice he's shaken them off. We've only lost a few doctors, though."

"What if the drugs wear off while someone's in here?" the trainee asked, swallowing hard. As if on cue, the man wrenched himself over, making an awkward sort of lunge in their direction. He didn't get far, although his eyes blazed fiercely. The older doctor chuckled unpleasantly.

"That's what the straightjacket is for."

* * *

Xemnas/-difficult prompt to describe in one word-

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**A/N:** A prompt very near and dear to me... my own personal nightmare. The lucky Nobody who got plucked out of the magical jacket pocket? The Superior, of course. 


	18. Eighteen

It was all a bit of fun. Sora and Riku were boys, and boys loved to play-fight, They still used wooden swords, but sometimes they got carried away and ended up with Keyblades in their hands, panting as they faced off, sweating under the hot Islands sun.

Then, one day, Sora tried to Drive. Riku could tell from the light which exploded suddenly around him, but something went wrong. A moment later, there was a crouched form where Sora had stood, inky black with yellow eyes. Darkness trailed around it in wisps. It lifted its head and sniffed the air, beast-like. Riku stood petrified, the Keyblade hanging from nerveless fingers, as the creature loped towards him on four legs, stopping only a few feet away.

"Rrri-kuu," it said, the voice a terrible, rasping mockery of Sora's. "Rrri-kuu."

The unmistakable stench of darkness was overwhelming as the thing inched forward, keeping low to the ground. Riku took a step back and the shadow-Sora went rigid, yellow eyes flashing with a predatory glow.

"St…stay away," Riku warned, remembering his Keyblade and holding it out, pointing it at the thing. "Don't come any closer… where's Sora? What did you do to him?"

The thing crept nearer, never looking away from him.

"Rrri-kuu," it said again, then pounced.

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5. Sora/Animal

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**A/N:** Um, look, I'm sorry. First I had a PSAT to do then a party to go to, so I stayed away from my house for two days. Then the power was out because of the darn wind for two days. Cinderella opens tomorrow so I'll be out this weekend too... Plus I'm trying to get part 1 of Depths all done by Halloween.

Bottom line is, I'll have lots of catching up to do, but don't worry, there will be 31 stories in time for Halloween:D


	19. Nineteen

He hadn't meant to do it, but the blood!

He had always smelled it on his master, smelled it in the victims consumed by the Heartless, smelled it in Axel and sometimes in the others, but most strongly on his master, his Superior. It smelled so _good_. All he had wanted was to taste some, just a little bit, a tiny drop. But he had wanted more, once he'd tasted it, and more, and more, and _more_ until, before he knew it, he was covered in it.

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10. Saïx/Accidental

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**A/N:** Holy crap, that's got to be the shortest thing I've ever submitted here. XD And it makes... let's see, here... 0 sense? XD 


	20. Twenty

They danced around him like smoke, wraith-like, their pale arms draped over his shoulders and around his neck. They spoke in voices like music, strings and brass and flutes and bells.

_Stay with us! Stay forever!_

_You must be hungry, Marluxia. Eat something. Have a bite. Just one mouthful._

_Try this. Go on. Take a bite._

The fruit they offered was red and tempting. His stomach ached with hunger and his throat was parched.

_Are you thirsty, Marluxia? Try this._

_Just a swallow! Just water. Try it? Please?_

_Don't go away, Marluxia. We like you. Stay forever!_

"I have to go," he said, his words a dry rasp out of an even drier throat. "I'm not hungry. Let go."

_Why? Why?_ the strings and brass and flutes and bells chorused.

"I want my heart back."

_You don't need to go. Stay. We'll pretend you have a heart._

_Stay. Aramuil. Stay forever. Try some fruit. You must be starving, Ara._

"Stop calling me that," he said, but his resolve was weakening. That fruit looked _good_. Perfectly juicy and sweet. His stomach growled, and they laughed like water.

_One bite won't kill you,_ they said._ One bite. And then you can go, if you want._

He reached out and took the fruit, turning it over and over in his hands. It was smooth and cool against his fingers.

_Try it, Ara. It's delicious._

Torn between the warnings he had been given and the promptings of his stomach, he raised the fruit to his lips.

His stomach won. The fruit really was delicious, the juice exploding into his mouth.

No sooner had he swallowed than golden shackles shimmered into sight around his wrists and ankles. The forms hanging on him became heavier, more substantial.

_Ara! Now you can stay with us, Ara!_

_Stay forever!_

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22. Marluxia/Supernatural

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**A/N:** Silly Marlu, haven't you ever heard ANYTHING about this sort of thing? I mean, what's the #1 rule for exploring a strage, possibly magical place? DON'T EAT ANYTHING. You know, Persephone and Chihiro's parents and all those Celtic legends. I like this one a lot because it deals with one of my favorite subjects, which I write when I'm not doing fanfics: fantasy! Woot! 


	21. Twenty One

She was called a witch.

Naminé had never understood her title, or why she wasn't part of the Organization. In the storybooks Demyx brought her, witches wore black. She wore white. She didn't brew poisoned apples, or turn princes into swans, or cook children and eat them. She didn't have a broomstick, a cauldron, or a pointy hat. She didn't even have proper magic. All she did was draw, and those drawings sometimes came to life. Other times, they didn't. She didn't know what the difference was. The nature of her power was a mystery to her. She was seen as harmless, yet she was always under guard. But why, if the only power she had was notoriously faulty?

Once she had touched Demyx's face and he had jerked away with a gasp, as though she had burned him. He had laughed and made an excuse about static shock, but after that, they never let her touch them. They were always cautious, like she_ was_ going to pop them into the oven or turn them to stone.

She dared to ask Xemnas about it. For a long moment he only looked at her, his face expressionless, his empty eyes burning into her.

"Because you are a familiar face in a house of strangers," he replied cryptically before vanishing in a swirl of darkness.

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14. Naminé/Poison

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	22. Twenty Two

The blond man scared her.

Kairi figured it was his eyes. Someone without a heart should not have such clear, piercing sky-blue eyes—it seemed too human. And yet, it wasn't quite. They were just a bit _too_ blue, to be really true, just a bit _too_ bright. The way he watched her while he was on guard duty was unnerving. He always stared right at her over clicking dice or shuffling cards. He always had a tiny, knowing smile twisting his lips.

"Is there something on my face?" Kairi snapped at last. The blond man didn't appear startled by the sudden outburst. Rather, it seemed he had been expecting it. He smirked lazily, the cards flipping into the dark shadows of his sleeves.

"On the contrary," he said, and even his voice seemed too cultured, too… _perfect_ to be real. "Your face is quite lovely. You are a very pretty girl, Naminé."

"My name is Kairi."

A pair of dice was offered through the bars.

"A roll, darling?"

"What are we playing for?" Kairi asked, taking the dice without thinking. The man smiled.

"This and that," he replied, waving his hand in an elegant, noncommittal gesture.

Apprehensively, Kairi gave a little toss. The dice skittered across the floor and rolled to a stop, one black pip showing on each. The blond man clucked his tongue, a swirl of darkness bringing him into her personal space. His gloved fingers were tight around her wrists. His breath smelled like tea and smoke.

"Snake eyes. You lose."

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12. Luxord/Heartless/Kairi

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**A/N:**I must have this thing about writing damsel!Kairi. It's like... like "Songs." 


	23. Twenty Three

Wisps of darkness and tiny, glowing hearts were all that remained when Number Thirteen was finished hacking through the crowd of Heartless. The almost-constant rain of Never Was had slacked off somewhat, but puddles remained, shimmering with reflections.

The faintest footstep alerted Roxas to another's presence. He whipped around, bringing the Keyblades up just in time to block the blow. Both blades rang with the force of the hit, and Roxas' arms ached almost instantly.

"I'm impressed," the stranger said, lowering his scythe. Now that there was a moment, Roxas could see that he was clad in the Organization's coat. The stranger flipped his hood back to reveal hair whose color was impossible to describe because of the city's neon lights shining on it.

"Who are you?" Roxas asked cautiously, not letting go of his Keyblades. The man smirked, but like those of all Nobodies, the expression was empty.

"Marluxia. Number Eleven."

"You've been following me since I left the Castle. Sir," Roxas amended reluctantly. This appeared to please Marluxia, who tilted his head in a haughty manner.

"I wanted to see you in action," he said. "I thought Axel was exaggerating."

"And was he?" Roxas asked.

"It's nothing spectacular," XI replied, raising an eyebrow. "I could have done the same and more. One thing intrigues me, however." His deceptively angelic blue eyes lingered hungrily on the Keyblades. A greedy glow flickered there that Roxas recognized. He saw it in Axel's eyes on occasion, or in Luxord's, and occasionally Zexion's. It was a light which spoke of dangerous ambition and an insatiable thirst for power. "Two Keyblades," Marluxia went on. "Remarkable. You're twice as powerful as he is."

"As who is?" Roxas asked, his brow creasing in confusion. An all-too-knowing smile hovered around Marluxia's lips.

"The other half," he responded.

"I don't want to play games," Roxas snapped impatiently, turning away. "If you want to say something, then say it."

"Don't you ever wonder why you have the Keyblades?" Number Eleven asked softly. Roxas stopped mid-step. He missed Marluxia's satisfied grin. "Don't you want to know who you were?"

"What do you know about me?" Roxas asked coolly, struggling to keep the eagerness from his voice.

"More than you do," Marluxia answered.

"Tell me everything," Roxas said, still not turning around. There was a pause which seemed to span hours.

"I _could_," Marluxia said slowly.

"There's an 'if' there," Roxas muttered. XI laughed.

"Correct," he said. "I like you, Roxas! I'd _like_ to tell you. But you can't expect me to go around giving out favors, can you?"

"What do you want?"

The question was blunt.

"Just your loyalty. If you could obey my orders, without consulting any of the others…"

"I don't trust you," Roxas said.

"Do you trust Xemnas?"

The question lingered in the still air. The tension was almost tangible.

"No," Roxas replied at last. "But I trust him _more_."

"Suit yourself," Marluxia murmured as Roxas continued on his way. He could make do. There was another Keyblade to be had, after all.

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21. Roxas/Keyblade

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**A/N:** Havre you ever listened to "Be Prepared" from the Lion King and imagined Marlu as Scar? 8D

And... why are my Roxas ones so long? XD


	24. Twenty Four

How odd it was that of all his memories, the strongest were of Xehanort. Xaldin remembered their doomed research all too well, all the experiments, all the times when he had to half-drag, half-carry the strange apprentice back to his room, trying not to notice when Xehanort's head curled against him, nuzzling under his jaw. There had always been something… off about Xehanort, the way he spoke and moved and looked at the world. It wasn't comfortable to be this close to him… it never had been.

It wasn't unusual for Xaldin to enter his chambers and find Xemnas waiting, standing by the window or seated at the desk or even curled up on his bed, fast asleep. Xaldin rarely spoke to him, if he could help it, but let Xemnas stay nevertheless.

Even now, years later and minus a heart, a being, he still didn't like it when Xemnas got too close, touching his sleeve or resting his head on the Lancer's shoulder or whispering secrets into his ear.

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11. Xaldin/Experiment

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**A/N:** Incidentally, go admire Luc Court's KH fics! But, um, after you review for this one! 


	25. Twenty Five

The wind was strong at this height. The rooftops of the City stretched out beneath him, the gap before him loomed dark and deep, and yet he was unafraid.

But of course he was, because Nobodies could not feel fear.

There was no 'why.' There was no reason. It was madness. _His_ madness, his beloved insanity.

The darkness below waited. He spared no glance at the cold, empty sky. No backing down now. It was time to end this pitiful excuse for existence.

He stepped forward into empty air.

There was no pain.

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27. Saïx/Suicide

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**A/N:** And Saix's make no sense. XD

Oh, hey, I forgot! Have you noticed that on the Roxas ones, they've been going backwards? O.o I just noticed yesterday. We have Roxas in Sora first, then Roxas leaving the City, then Roxas getting his incentive to leave the City. XD


	26. Twenty Six

The Heartless was just too powerful.

The Keyblade fell from Sora's hand, dissolving into a fizz of sparks. Sora fell to his knees, his eyes fixed on the glowing whatever-it-was rising from his chest. Somewhere, distantly, that man was laughing, that rich, dark voice sounding far too strange when it expressed such joy. The door could not be shut with only one Keyblade. The worlds would be devoured by darkness… and then what? With nothing to feed on, what would the darkness do? Would it simply… exist? A mass of shadow that spread over all worlds, known and unknown, simply growing and growing and growing until nothing was left?

But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that _Sora was gone._ His laugh, his childish pouts, his cocky grin, his blue eyes which rarely showed any deep thought behind them, his arms which gave such good hugs, his heart, all vanished into darkness…

Kairi woke up.

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1. Kairi/Nightmares/Sora

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**A/N:** Aaak! No time to put up today's, sorry! Tomorrow morning! 


	27. Twenty Seven

Riku is never quite alone.

He would rather be alone, would rather vanish from the realm of light. He doesn't deserve to be here, in the company of Sora and Kairi. He doesn't deserve such friends as them and Mickey. But even when they're not with him, Riku isn't alone.

He may have accepted the darkness, but that doesn't mean he especially enjoys it when Ansem… no, he still has to remind himself, that's not his name. No one knows his name… whispers to him from the shadows in his heart. All the power of darkness is there, just begging for him to utilize it. Anything Riku wants, he could have. Anything.

Except for what he _really_ wants, which is to be a kid again. He wants to be like Sora, who seems to have a very short memory. He wants to stop the Heartless' whispers in his heart. But the Darkness isn't good for that.

Riku's greatest fear is giving into the darkness again. Maybe he won't even realize it when he does… he didn't last time, after all. He fears that some day, he'll come to his senses and his home will be gone, his family, his friends, everything he knows. It happened before. But before he came back, thanks to Sora.

Maybe this time, the Heartless would have gotten smarter. Maybe he would have killed Sora first.

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23. Riku/Alone

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**A/N:** Okay, I changed my mind. HA! I'M ALL CAUGHT UP!!!!!

Now I have to run. XD


	28. Twenty Eight

In a way, they were all addicts. But not to your average coarse, street-level drugs; each of Ansem's former apprentices was into pure darkness. Each of them showed it in different ways. Zexion dreamed of the future and crept about in the shadows of their minds. Lexaeus withdrew into himself, forgetting all about anything that wasn't connected to his charge. Vexen became reclusive and moody, hiding in his lab, safe with things that were familiar and controllable. Xaldin was restless, pacing through their refuge and glaring at the shadows. Xigbar got, if possible, even crazier, pushing the limits of their existence as far as he could, toeing the fine line between "life" and oblivion. Xemnas saw visions that the others could only dream of, orchestrated grand plans which, despite their intricacies, fall apart at the first breeze. None of the others really knew about him. He was left too long in the dark.

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7. Vexen/Addiction

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**A/N:** _"What? Where was Vexen?"_

Oh, I mentioned him.

_"Um... I thought you LIKED torturing your favorite characters."_

Well... yes, I do. But I torture Vexen too much outside of this story... I thought I'd cut him a break. u.u


	29. Twenty Nine

**A/N:** Okay! Sneak peek from Depths of Oblivion, coming up! **Enjoy... and remember, Org. fans, go read Depths next.**

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"I wish it hadn't come to this," he said softly. Something almost human flickered in the not-Xehanort's eyes as they dwelled on the weapon.

"So do I," it answered.

Darkness swirled suddenly around Ansem's feet. Like thick mud, it trapped him when he tried to move. The monster wearing Xehanort's face smiled, its eyes gleaming even more brightly.

"King Mickey told me about these," it said. "Naturally, I was dying to try."

It paced closer.

"You should be thanking me," it said. "One day, all the worlds will know your name."

It began to depart, but appeared to remember something, and turned back.

"You were right about one thing, Master," it said, with a strange little half-smile. "I'm not Xehanort. I never have been. My name is—"

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31. Ansem/Beaten

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**A/N:**HA! You thought I'd divulge my precious theories so easily? X3 


	30. Thirty

Axel operated on a strict philosophy: Three could keep a secret.

He viewed his work with some satisfaction, licking the blood off the blades of one of his chakrams. All for the good of the Organization. It had been in Marluxia's best interests. Axel was no traitor. He simply played to the crowd.

What crowd? Whoever could see. He was a show-off. He had never denied it. He liked to make a splash, had to make a scene wherever he went. It had gotten him into trouble more than once with Xemnas, but the Superior trusted him. Well, that man never really trusted anyone. Smart cookie.

But anyway, back to Axel and the blood. This spot was tangy, still sparking with dulled electric shocks; this spot sweet and thick, just like he'd imagined it would be.

But I digress. Axel's philosophy was this: Three can keep a secret… if two of them were safely dead.

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2x8: The Prompt that Never Was. 


	31. Thirty One

This was one of those times when he was glad he couldn't feel.

The monster's touch left him, although he could still feel its too-hot fingers gripping his arms with unnatural, bruising strength, its teeth scraping his shoulders and throat. Although he was covered in sweat, he shivered uncontrollably and managed to pull his coat back around him, a vain and far-too-late effort to shield himself. His entire body ached, the spots where bones had dug into him beginning to bloom into purple and black splotches.

"You liked it."

He shuddered involuntarily as the Heartless' voice slid around him, and tried not to look at the face that he knew as well as his own. It _was_ his own.

"You would like to think so," he replied in turn, matching his twin's voice with just the right inflections. He was completely numb. One of the others could have remembered the proper emotion, but he couldn't remember what he should be feeling.

"How would you know?" the Heartless purred, taking his chin in his fingers.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hardly a kiss at all. Neither would submit by closing their eyes, and molten orange stared defiantly back into molten orange. He felt like spitting when the monster released him.

"You're despicable," he murmured.

"Who should I thank for that?" his twin asked in reply, finally drawing away from him. He drew a gloved hand across his swollen lips, at last finding the proper words.

"I hate you."

The Heartless smiled, showing sharp teeth whose tips were stained just slightly with his blood.

"You can't."

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30. Xemnas/Rape

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**A/N: **Save the best for last?

There, see? I TOLD you I'd have 31 stories by Halloween! It's been a long journey... and very stressful for me, believe me! One thing I noticed... I updated "Depths" and someone mentioned that my style's developed (since before October). How very interesting... I guess there was a point to this after all!

Hey, tomorrow's my birthday!

Happy Halloween!


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